Wesley Corpus

Page 20 21First published in HSP (1740), 62-63. Manuscript version in MS Psalms, 322-23. Psalm CXXX.21 Out of the depth of self-despair To thee, O Lord, I cry; My misery mark, attend my prayer, And bring salvation nigh. Death's sentence in myself I feel, Beneath thy wrath I faint; O let thine ear consider well The voice of my complaint. If thou art rig'rously severe, Who may the test abide? Where shall the man of sin appear, Or how be justified? But O! Forgiveness is with thee, That sinners may adore, With filial fear thy goodness see, And never grieve thee more. I look to see his lovely face, I wait to meet my Lord, My longing soul expects his grace, And rests upon his word. My soul, while still to him it flies, Prevents the morning ray; O that his mercy's beams would rise, And bring the gospel-day! Ye faithful souls, confide in God, Mercy with him remains, Plenteous redemption in his blood, To wash out all your stains. His Israel himself shall clear, From all their sins redeem: The Lord our righteousness is near, And we are just in him. Page 21 22A manuscript version appears in MS Cheshunt, 101-3; MS Clarke, 116-18; and MS Psalms, 334-36. Psalm CXXXVII.22 Fast by the Babylonish tide, (The tide our sorrows made o'erflow) We dropt our weary limbs, and cried In deep distress at Sion's woe, Her we bewail'd in speechless groans In bondage with her captive sons. Our harps, no longer vocal now, We cast aside untun'd, unstrung, Forgot them pendant on the bough; Let meaner sorrows find a tongue. Silent we sat, and scorn'd relief, In all the majesty of grief. In vain our haughty lords requir'd A song of Sion's sacred strain, "Sing us a song your God inspir'd." How shall our souls exult in pain, How shall the mournful exiles sing, While bond-slaves to a foreign king? Jerusalem dear hallow'd name, Thee if I ever less desire, If less distrest for thee I am, Let my right-hand forget its lyre, All its harmonious strains forgoe, When heedless of a mother's woe. O England's des'late church, if thee, Tho' des'late I remember not, Let me, so lost to piety, Be lost myself, and clean forgot; Cleave to the roof my speechless tongue, When Sion is not all my song.